Title: Repercussions - Chapter 1

Pairing: Kent/Chandler

Rating: R

Author: Claddagh

Summary: The uniforms of the Metropolitan police force don't like the idea of a homosexual couple in their station.

Disclaimer: Not mine…or are they? No. Really. They're not!

Warnings: Violence, homophobia, angst…The list is endless…


It had all happened a few weeks after Joe and Emerson had become a couple.

Over the course of the four years since the beginning of the Ripper case and throughout the Kray's incident, as well as all of the other less high publicity cases, Joe and Emerson's relationship has evolved from one of pure tolerance of the young man's presence and hero worship, to mutual friendship and respect, then further to a tentative attraction.

Both men had been reluctant to venture into the beginning of a relationship, worries of what others would think and the possible repercussions of those thoughts causing knots of anxiety to appear in their stomachs. However, after multiple hurried discussions in the dark, quiet corners of the station the two men had cautiously started their relationship, but had agreed to be discreet about it when at work, as despite the wide acceptance of homosexuality in today's society, the police force seemed to be mostly exempt in this belief, and still held prejudice and stereotypical views, especially as it seemed, the uniforms.

Ever since the Kray's, Chandler's whole team, Kent in particular was very wary of all of the uniforms and preferred to do all of the work for a case themselves, with minimal involvement of the uniforms. Most would think that this distrust was unfounded, as the police force had been purged of most, if not all corruption since the Kray's, but all of Chandler's team still chose to keep their distance, only trusting each other.

The teams' distrust of the uniforms was only exacerbated by the PC's reactions to the teams' distance. Whispers around the station that inevitably made their way back to the team and more overt displays such as name calling down the corridor; a schoolboy practice, but still very cutting and effective. More than once when Kent had been carrying files towards the incident room his rout had been followed by calls of 'fag' of 'poof'. When he'd been alone he'd just sighed and carried on, but once, when the uniforms had been brave (or stupid) enough to do this when Miles had been with him, had bared the brunt of Miles' colourful Londoner insults. Most of the uniforms were a slightly wary, if not scared of the small DS and whenever Kent was with Miles the incidents were thankfully few and far between.

Chandler had confined in Kent that he'd had similar experiences with the uniforms, though they were not quite as obvious with their taunts when it was Chandler, as if caught, the DI's higher rank and connections would put their jobs in a much more precarious position more quickly than the other detectives could.

Both Chandler and Kent were pretty sure that no one except Miles, Mansell and Dr Llewellyn knew of their relationship. Others in the force may suspect, but none had definite proof, so both men had continued to keep their relationship discreet when at work, not wanting to risk being the talk of the station, though it was difficult. Sometimes, when standing close to each other, all Chandler wanted to do was interlace his fingers with Kent's or when he was sitting in his office during one of the quiet afternoons when, instead of checking previous files like he usually would, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the young man bent over his desk reading, or standing at the filing cabinet tidying.

Six weeks into their relationship both men were working late into the evening, Miles and Mansell having gone home over an hour ago, the office coated in thick, winter darkness, except for each man's desk lamp and the corridor light outside, that barely permeated the darkness. They'd both thought that they were alone, so when Kent slipped into Joe's office, sat on the edge of the desk and lent down, pulling Joe into a playful kiss by his tie, the older man didn't resist and instead threaded his fingers through the young man's curls and stood from his chair, changing the angle of the embrace and puling the young man closer, kissing him back earnestly.

With each other as a pleasurable distraction neither man saw the two uniforms standing in the corridor, staring at their superiors, heartless sneers dominating their expressions.


It was a week later, on an evening very similar to the one seven days previously, that Kent once again came to sit on the edge of Chandler's desk and yawned tiredly.

"Are you going to be finished any time soon?" the young man asked, leaning on one hand.

Chandler looked up from the mass of papers at the DC and gave a tiny smile, before reaching out a hand and gripping the young man's thigh, gently squeezing.

"I think I'll stay for another hour or so, this case is proving to be quite difficult." Chandler sighed and sat back in his chair, one hand rubbing over his tired eyes. "Go home Emerson, don't wait for me. I might come to your flat later once I'm finished here. Is that ok?"

Kent smiled. "Of course it's ok, do you still have the key I gave you?"

Chandler nodded.

"Ok, well, I'll see you later then." The young man then lent forward and gently kissed Joe on the lips, the contact only lasting a few seconds. As they pulled away Joe stroked one hand along the inside of Kent's thigh as he still sat on the table.

"Drive carefully." The older man muttered.

Kent laughed quietly as he stood from the desk and made his way to the door of Joe's office. "You really don't trust me on the Vespa do you?"

Joe shook his head as a laugh threatened to escape his lips.

"No, it's just I'd prefer if you had a car."

Kent gave a cheeky smile. "Well, now you know what to get me for Christmas, don't you?" and with that he walked out of Joe's office, leaving the DI staring after him through the glass with a soft, almost sappy expression on his face that would make Miles scoff and roll his eyes. He watched as Kent grabbed and pulled on his coat, collected his phone and keys, then shoved his helmet under his arm, before turning to him and offering one last smile, then walked out of the office, leaving Joe alone in the silence.


Kent pushed open the door to the station and stepped out into the harsh winter cold, the frozen air hitting the young man's face and stinging the flesh like a slap. He pulled his coat tighter around his already shivering frame and began to walk quickly to his Vespa, which was parked around the corner, right next to Chandler's car. As he walked around the corner, out of the circle of lights that surrounded the station entrance, he shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys, the cold metal digging into his icy palms. The young man manoeuvred his way around Joe's car and came to stand next to his little Vespa, already not looking forward to sitting on the seat, which would undoubtedly be freezing.

He was just about to put his helmet on when the voice reached his ears.

"DC Kent!"

He turned around to face the source of the sound, placing his helmet on the seat of the Vespa, and stared into the darkness. He could barely make out the form of a person standing about twenty feet away in the middle of the car park. He didn't recognise the voice, but assumed that it was someone who was also a part of the police force and therefore someone he could trust.

"Yes?" He called out, keeping his eyes fixed on the other man's form. The man began to walk towards him without replying, unnerving the young man slightly, who shifted from one foot to the other while gripping his keys even tighter.

Eventually the other man was close enough for Kent to see his face. The young man frowned slightly as he recognised one of the uniforms who frequently worked in the incident room with the team.

"PC Andrews. Is there something that you wanted?" He called out, his voice quite confident now that he knew who the other man was.

As the PC came to stand in front of Kent he smiled and placed his hands in his pockets. Though the smile was not a friendly one, and immediately Kent was on his guard again, the old fear of the uniforms creeping into his conscious thoughts.

"Yeah there is." He then looked from side to side into the darkness, and before Kent could turn his head to see what the other man was looking at he felt two hands on either shoulder gripping harshly, then suddenly he was pulled backwards and his back slammed against the hard brick wall, his head snapping backwards from the force, causing his skull to smash against the wall, making a dull thud at the impact.

His legs weakened and his vision swam as the pain in his head exploded and he let out a disorientated, painful moan. After a few seconds Kent was able to focus and immediately began to panic when he saw that Andrews was standing right in front of him, smiling in a wicked, almost psychopathic way. A glance to each side revealed that two other uniforms were standing next to him, glaring at the young DC.

Kent brought one hand up to the back of his head and blanched when the tips of his fingers came away covered in blood. He grimaced.

"W-what do you want?" the young man forced out, breathless and his heart pounding in his chest.

Andrews, flanked by the other two uniforms, moved even closer to Kent and lent down until they was eye to eye.

"We want all of you fags out of the police force." With that Andrews gripped Kent's throat with one hand and as quick as lightening punched the young man across the face. Kent clenched his eyes closed and let out a cry of pain. The two other PC's barely gave the younger man time to recover from the punch when they closed in and all three began to rain punches down on the DC. Kent was hardly able to make a sound during the attack as one particularly hard punch to the stomach winded him and made it impossible for him to catch his breath, enabling him only to let out grunts, coughs and wheezes with the impact of each punch. Instead he tried to curl up into a small ball to try and get away from the hard fists, but a hand on each shoulder held him up against the wall for the duration of the attack, making it impossible for him to escape or defend himself in any way, though for the first minute or so he did try to hit back through the pain, but every retaliation attempt was thwarted by the PC's who were all stronger than he was and out numbered him.

As the attack continued it seemed that the punches were getting harder, but it only appeared that way to Kent as the uniforms fists repeatedly smashed against the already bruising flesh, causing the pain to double.

After what seemed like an eternity the hands on his shoulders released him and with that Kent's knees finally buckled and he fell to the floor of the car park, the grit and small pieces of broken glass digging into his palms. The young man curled up as small as he could and let out pain filled moans in between harsh ragged breaths. He opened his eyes to look up at the three men, who were still standing above him, only to flinch backwards when Andrews lent down.

"If you fucking tell anyone we did this, you'll have more than a few bruises to worry about." With that Andrews drew back a foot and swiftly kicked Kent in the stomach, once again winding the young man, who gasped in agony as his side exploded in pain and began to sob against the dirty ground.

At this, all three man began to laugh, heartlessly, and Kent could make out comments of 'Faggot' and 'sick fucker', but he just stayed as still as possible and just concentrated on breathing. He heard a crash then more laughter, but he didn't have the strength to open his eyes to see what it was. Kent expected at any time for another hit to come, but was blessedly relieved when the three men's voices faded and he was left alone, among the dirt, broken glass and cigarette butts.

He didn't know how long he lay there, the movement of each breath alone reverberating pain through his whole body, while the movement of each heart wrenching sob that shook his chest caused bolts of agony to pulse through the young man, but he couldn't stop the sobs from coming, no matter how much they hurt.

Eventually when they did subside enough, the young man attempted to climb to his feet, which proved difficult, not only because of the pain he was in, but his hands and whole body was shaking from a mixture of fear and the icy coldness of the London winter.

When he eventually made it to his feet his vision of the whole car park swam in front of him and he had to grip the wall behind him to steady himself. After a few seconds this feeling passed and he was able to open his eyes and focus on his surroundings.

Thankfully the car park was empty, but the young man noticed with a helpless groan that his Vespa had been kicked over and was now on the floor on it's side. He slowly walked over to his 'baby' and bent down to pick it up, his arms feeling so weak and shaky that he was barely able to grip the handle of the scooter, let alone lift it. He also noted that one of the mirrors was smashed and the side that it had landed on now had several scratches and scuffs along it's length.

The young man silently wiped away a tear from his eye and bent down to pick up his helmet, once again placing it on the seat of the Vespa.

Kent suddenly turned around to look at Chandler's car, which had been parked next to his scooter. It was stupid and irrational, he should be more concerned about his own safety, but he slowly limped towards the vehicle and walked around it, examining it for any damage. He knew that Joe loved his car and after his other one was stolen during the Kray case he was fiercely protective of this one. With his first relieved sigh of the evening Kent smiled slightly, then winced when his split lip was pulled, as Joe's car seemed to be free of any damage that he could see in the limited light.

'Small mercies' the young man thought, before he walked back to his Vespa. He glanced upwards towards the windows above him that he knew to be the incident room, he could still see a dim light shining through the glass, telling him that Joe was still working away. Part of him wanted to go back into the station, up to the incident room, and just collapse in Joe's arms, but the rest of him was too stubborn and scared to do that and just wanted to go home and go to bed.

So with a small sniff and a whimper Kent rubbed his hands together to rid them of grit and shakily pulled his helmet on, wincing as the soft inside of the helmet pressed on his head injury. Slowly and painfully he then climbed onto the scooter and fumbled with the keys, turning the ignition on. With his head still swimming and his body aching Kent drove the Vespa out of the car park and through the streets of London to his home. How he got there safely without crashing he didn't know, but when he finally stood at the door to his flat he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly, knowing that he was safe here.

Once inside he locked the door and quickly put the chain lock on before leaning back against the wood and again, allowing the tears to come.


Emerson stared into the mirror, observing his injuries. One eye was already black and beginning to swell, his nose was trickling blood down his bruised chin and his bottom lip was split. He then looked down at his torso (his suit abandoned on the floor of the bathroom) which was decorated with several bruises, some darker than others, but all extremely painful, especially when he moved. His skin looked like a child had been finger paining all over it with black, blue and green paint, while his palms and fingers were also cut from where he'd landed on the floor, a few of the grazes still had small pieces of grime and grit embedded in them.

The most worrying though was the small cut on the back of his head, which had bled all down his neck and didn't seem to be stopping. Kent was weak and dizzy and couldn't be bothered to clean all of the injuries, but didn't want to go to bed covered in blood and grime, so he'd turned on his shower, the water turned up to almost as hot as it would go, before he stepped under the spray, gasping at the extreme temperature.

The hot water made his skin immediately come up red and when it hit the cuts on his body they stung and seared with renewed fervour. Kent placed both palms against the shower wall and lent on them ignoring the pain that the hot water caused and watched as the red tinted water disappeared down the plug. He then closed his eyes and once again began to sob, the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness all too familiar and vivid in his memory from less than a year ago when he'd been attacked during the Kray's case.

He stayed this way until the water ran cold, cooling his flushed skin and making him shiver again, before climbing out of the shower, drying and dressing in a pair of pyjama trousers and a warm jumper. He reached out a hand a wiped it across the steamed up surface of the mirror, wiping away the condensation and revealing his own beaten image staring back at him. He found that after the shower his appearance wasn't any better; the blood may have been washed away, but the swelling and bruising now looked even worse. He sighed and brought his fingers to his face, gently touching the hot, marked flesh, that ached and stung with his touch.

Though one good thing had come from the shower; his muscles seemed to have loosened and the pain in his body didn't seem as harsh and sharp when he moved. He continued to examine his reflection, one hand coming up to touch the cut on the back of his head, concealed amongst his dark curls, which seemed to have stopped bleeding finally.

Kent's whole body jumped in fright and shock when he heard a bang from the other room. With his breathing raised and his heart pounding in fear he opened the bathroom door and looked around. Another bang from the front door caused him to spin around on his heel and stare fearfully at the source of the sound.

"Emerson? Are you ok? Let me in." Came Joe's worried voice from the half open door. Joe had opened the door with his key, but the chain lock that Kent had put on has stopped the door from opening more than half a foot, which had caused the banging that had scared the young man. His breathing and heat rate calmed slightly, but was still elevated.

Kent had half a mind to tell the other man to go away, but he knew that Joe would never do that, so with his hands shaking and panic settling firmly in his stomach the young man walked towards the door to let Joe in, uncertain of how the next few moments would play out.

TBC